By the hand of a murderer
by Pseudoavatar
Summary: A Muggle is killed, and his death awakens old memories in two people. Severus contemplates where his path has taken him; Lily mourns for the death of the little boy she once knew. One-shot, character study.


The Muggle was lying in a puddle on the ground, his eyes empty and unfocused. Mulciber and Rosier roared in mocking laughter as they threw curses towards the man standing on the opposite side of the road, and ducking them, Sirius Black threw one last disgusted look towards him, and then Disapparated.

Mulciber and Rosier ran towards him, their soles splashing in the mud, but they were too late. Irritated and disappointed, the two men could be heard cursing as they arrived to Black's abandoned post just a second too late. Severus Snape stood in the same spot he had Apparated just a moment ago, staring at the dead man at his feet. His wand was still out, and he lowered it slowly. He realised his hand was shaking, the hand which was responsible for the lifeless body on the road. He tried very hard to imagine his father in the dead man's place, searched for any spark of justification and pleasure from within himself as he looked into the unseeing eyes of the Muggle man. But it wasn't quite as easy now that idea had become reality in a flash of green light, and he felt no pleasure or triumph. Just emptiness; he felt as empty as the dead Muggle's eyes were.

At that moment, he couldn't even remember what his father had looked like.

 _Kill the Muggle, Severus, now, what are you waiting for! Be done with him already, we're going after Black-_

 _ **Avada Kedavra!**_

The man had been around the same age as his father had been when Severus had last seen him, when he had gone to the pub one night and just never came back. The man had been carrying a Tesco's plastic bag when he fell, and a packet of cereal, a carton of skimmed milk and a six-pack of peach yoghurts had fallen out. Severus bent over and picked up the cereal. His mother had bought the same brand when he had been a child: it came in a pink carton and was easy to recognise. He had often eaten it for breakfast, sitting by the kitchen table in his blue, faded, too-small pajamas, rubbing sleep off his eyes. It was a sugary brand, the kind that children liked to eat. He wondered if the man had had children.

 _Eat up, love, quickly, before daddy wakes up._

"We need to tell the Dark Lord that we failed", he heard Rosier say in a worried tone.

"I'm not going to, I told him last time... I can still feel his _Crucio_ in my bones... hey, do you think we might still catch Black, if we searched for him in all the usual spots?"

"Nah," replied Rosier. "Too late now, he probably Apparated directly to the house of someone in the Order. But tell you what – Severus can tell the Dark Lord. He's liked, and besides, certainly the Dark Lord will be pleased to hear that Severus finally had the opportunity to...ahh... prove his dedication to the cause."

"What should we do with the body?" Severus asked quietly, still looking at the dead man.

 _Why did I do it?_

"What do you mean?" Mulciber asked with indifference. "Do what you want, Severus. Make him dance the polka through the air if you so wish, or take off his clothes and leave him by the side of the road... although that's not half as fun since it's a man... But do as you wish. Just use your imagination."

Was that what they did with the bodies, after they had killed?

"That must have felt great, Severus," Rosier said longingly. "I remember my first kill... the rush of adrenaline, of absolute power... just wait until you'll move on to better kills, we must arrange you a few filthy Mudbloods to play with...

Severus closed his eyes. For a moment it seemed to him as though the dead man before him had changed form, had taken on the appearance of a woman, her red hair sprawled in the muddy puddles, green eyes empty and lifeless, her naked, violated body by the side of the road...

He felt nauseous.

 _You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine._

He tried to concentrate on his father, on the memory of the feel of his large hands in his hair, around his throat, on the memory of the smell of alcohol on his breath... on the sounds of his mother screaming in agony and fear. They all deserve it, disgusting Muggles, he thought, but the words rang empty now, and the memories were slipping from him and he felt nothing, no raising anger or even sweet bitterness. All that remained was the muddy road, where a man who had bought pink-packaged sugared cereal and peach yoghurts laid, and where he would never get up from.

 _Where'd your lot come from?_ He had asked in awe as he had looked over his shoulder at the three men who had appeared behind him with a pop, and those awed words would forever remain his last words, because those bluish lips would never speak again.

He felt the Dark Mark burn – the Dark Lord was waiting for news, waiting to hear what had become of Sirius Black. A swish of wind shook the leaves, a popping sound rang in the air, and they were gone.

The body remained on the road, its eyes open and unseeing, soon filled with rain water which was starting to seep down from the black clouds, until a car pulled up the road, stopped, and the sound of a startled scream pierced the air.

""

The bed was familiar and smelled of home, yet she found no consolation from the familiarity as she wept in her pillow. James had left her there, kissed the top of her head and turned off the light to give her privacy. He had gone to show Sirius the guest room where he'd be sleeping that night, as it was much too unsafe for him to travel now.

"Disgusting git... Wish I would've had the time to kill him myself, but those two apes were coming for me... Don't know how they even knew I'd be there," Sirius's voice reached her ears. "But Merlin knows I will show him the next time I see him. Didn't even blink, the twisted mongrel, just Avada Kedavra'ed the poor beggar to his death without as much as a warning."

"Shh..." James hushed him in a much lower voice. "I don't want Lily to hear the details. She's quite upset."

"Upset? Ha! What's there to be upset about? Anyone could see dear old Snivelly is just You-Know-Who's lap dog now, always has been... it was probably the highlight of his miserable life to kill that defenseless Muggle," Sirius said harshly.

"Yes, yes, _I_ know that – but _please,_ keep your voice down, for Lily's sake. She seemed to think it's just a _phase_ for him... she seemed convinced he's just acting out on some, oh, I don't know, some childhood traumas or something...that he'd come around eventually..."

Sirius snorted.

"No offence to your missus, but I think she was grasping at straws there. Snivellus was born a Death Eater, it's just in his bones. Could see it the first time I laid eyes on his pallid, ugly face... why she ever bothered to spend time with him, I'll never understand..."

Lily stifled the sound of their conversation, holding the pillow against her ears. She didn't want to hear it, she refused to believe it, and the way Sirius condenced Severus into such a bleak, simplistic mould broke her heart.

She thought of the thin, long-haired boy who had often waited for her by the riverbank, in his funny clothes, in his eyes a look that was both defiant and vulnerable as he gazed at her. She had always been rather mystified by him, by his strange clothes, by the strange and somewhat old-fashioned way he spoke, by the constantly vigilant way he carried himself – she'd been rather nervous to even touch him at first, he had seemed so unpredictable, his reactions alien and mystifying. She'd even been mystified and fascinated by his name; it had felt sharp, symmetrical and angular in her mouth, just like he was.

 _I like your name. Severus Snape. Seeverus Snaape. Se-ve-rus Sna-pe._

 _I certainly don't. My mother's name used to be Prince, before she married my father. I much prefer Prince to Snape. And I think Severus is just a ridiculous name._

 _Well, I like it, and that's that._

Severus had always seemed so much older than anyone she knew, years older than Petunia, in some ways older even than her parents. Her parents had been happy people, all wrinkles born from laughter and kind, droopy eyes, soft hugs and words. Severus had had a haunted, hardened appearence, even as a child, and each passing year he just looked wearier still, like he carried something heavy on his heart which was slowly eating at him. He had had the appearence of someone who had seen all the darkness this world had to offer, and had somehow managed to walk through it all, just to wait for her by the river, to proudly show her the newest book or spell he had acquired. He had kept glancing at her, as though looking for her approval or a kind word; any pleased reaction she could give him. And she often did, her heart hurting when she noticed how he glowed at the slightest compliment, slightest encouragement from her. She had supposed he didn't receive much kindness or love at home.

Lily had sometimes cried for him, when he had showed up to their place by the river with bruised cheeks or arms, trying to hide them from her behind his hair or his clothes. He had hissed angrily at her if she pointed them out, staring at her with a face that wanted no pity. But she had cried anyway, and sometimes hugged him; and he had felt rigid and skinny in her arms, but then had hesitantly put his arms around her and patted her back clumsily, as though it was he who was comforting her and not the other way around. But she had never cried as much as she did now; the tears just wouldn't stop, as she mourned the death of that little boy whose hand she had held for so short a while.

Where did the other end and the other start? When had that little boy who had jumped out of the bushes with eager eyes all those years ago - who had told her how it was her destiny to go to a magical school for witches and wizards, who had told her that it didn't matter if one was Muggle-born - when had he turned into that grown up man who would kill a Muggle for no other reason than for being on the way? A long time ago, he had been the single dearest person in her life. He, with his pretty black eyes and his rare, short-lived laughs, which had always made her feel special, because she had never heard him laugh in anyone else's company.

Had he truly been born to become a Death-Eater, like Sirius had said? Had he truly always had what it took to murder someone somewhere inside of him? Had she just been blinded by her tenderness towards the hardened boy to see it?

 _Promise me, please, Lily – promise me, that even though I'm a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor... promise, no,_ swear _to me you'll still be my best friend..._

 _Of course I will be, silly. I don't care about the Houses. It's just different colors, different mottos... it's all the same to me._

 _Forever and ever?_

 _Forever and ever._

His hand had felt right in hers then, and she never could have imagined that the same hand could, some day in the days to come, take away another's life.


End file.
